I seem to be wasting an absurd amount of time recently looking for things. Keys, mobile phone, purse…but mostly keys. And car keys in particular…why are they never in the spot where I swear I always put them?… why do they always have the innate ability to go missing with such precision timing when I am just about to go out? It’s like there is some demon superpower somewhere who is absolutely pissing themselves laughing at my misfortune. Adding to my misery is often the problem that I am already running 10 minutes late. The frantic search will involve removing the lining from coats (or at least clearing out the million tissues and receipts from pockets), spilling the contents of handbags across the bed and propelling every shoe into orbit (don’t ask…but a friend once told me that choosing a favourite shoe to keep keys in was always a `safe place’ to hide them)…but strange things keep happening to me lately…and I promise you that they WEREN’T there when I first looked!!! But with a bizarreness which is uncomfortably close to madness there they were…in their rightful place all the time! “See, you didn’t look properly” my husband bravely muttered before another shoe was torpedoed in his direction!
There’s nothing better than a evening of self-indulgence and mine started with an early shower, complete with the rare regime of shaving, exfoliation and buffing…every woman magazine I read excels the benefits of self love and body appreciation…to talk to your curves with affection, gaze with wonderment upon the stretch marks, gleefully jiggle the flabby bits (as if!!), to let the water flow over you to wash away all the built-up stress of the day…and all was fine until, totally lost in the moment, I tipped my head back just a tiny fraction too far to savour this delight and let a glut of water land straight into my ears! I then spent the next 20 minutes in the kitchen trying to get my hearing back! I eventually rescued the situation with a glass of chilled wine from the fridge and a bar of chocolate (also in fridge) and decided a movie on the TV was the ultimate relaxation tool. Curled up of the sofa I clicked on the icon and the film burst onto the screen. But no…for the next 10 minutes I waited…and I waited…oh how I waited for it to start. But I found that in order to enjoy the delights of actually watching something I had to sit through the following blurb for 10 minutes…`film in association with unreal pictures, surreal film company presents in association with total slush entertainment, a Michael f@#ked up production, a film by missed the plot and keep the reel of titles coming! A second glass of wine came to my rescue!
I hate the terminology used sometimes to describe us women in our late fifties…and in particular the descriptions such as `middle aged’ and `mature’. It makes me sound like a ripe cheese! I know it’s far better than using words like `ripe’ or ‘over the hill’ but nevertheless it still hits a raw nerve. Let’s look at the words `middle aged’…it sounds too much like `middle of the road’ which basically means moderate, and believe me, women in their 50’s are far from that! And the word `mature’ which the dictionary states as `having reached the most advanced stage in a process’! Oh boy!…I’ve got years then before I become mature. Yes, 59 can definitely be described as `perfectly complex and full bodied…just like my favourite wine!